


Alone in his Motel Room

by lucifers_left_earlobe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Human Castiel, M/M, POV Sam Winchester, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:05:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifers_left_earlobe/pseuds/lucifers_left_earlobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is basically a fic request I started and ended up changing. Told from Sam's perspective about Dean falling in love with Cas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone in his Motel Room

Sam Winchester has noticed that his normally high strung brother is more relaxed lately, more lucid. Dean walks with a spring in his step, something that he hasn’t had since high school. There is even a little twinkle in his eye, as cliché as it seems. Right now, Dean is making the pair of them pancakes with his signature whipped cream and syrup smiley face. His shoulders are straight as he moves his arms in circles, as he flips the batter into a golden brown circle. His posture has improved with a confidence that Sam would’ve never thought his brother would have. 

“Hey Dean?” he asks, hoping that Dean will give him a straight forward response this time. He watches his brother’s head turn slightly, one green eye peeking over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean responds. He turns his head back to the food and dumps a fourteenth pancake onto the large tin platter sitting beside the stove. Sam clears his throat to attempt to rid himself of the awkwardness he feels asking this of his brother. “Are you seeing anyone?” he asks after a good minute.

Dean’s shoulders stiffen, their breakfast forgotten, and he rotates on an axis almost too perfectly. He offers Sam an extremely falsified grin and brings a hand to rub at the back of his head, like it always does when he’s about to lie. “No, Sam. It’s just you and me against the world, remember?” Dean belts out a stark chuckle and returns his attention to the stove. 

“Yeah, Dean. I remember. But what’s gotten into you lately? You’re almost happy.” Sam doesn’t add that he looks like he’s in love, given the fond glances he gives his phone when he receives a text occasionally. Sam watches as Dean’s face softens into an expression of outright tenderness, something that they were teased about when they were little for being Mom and Son. 

“I am happy, Sammy. I’m just fine. Are you happy?” he asks, his eyes clouding with that same matronly concern. Dean grins at him and shuts off the motel room stove. “I’d do anything, Sam. Anything you want to do and I’ll let you do that,” Dean adds behind a small pancake stuffed into his gullet. 

“I’m happy, jerk.” Sam takes the platter from his brother and forks out half of what Dean’s cooked. Damn, he’s growing again if his appetite is _this_ big. Another three inches and he’ll be bigger than Dean. “But just so you know, you can tell me anything about anything,” he mutters before gorging himself.

Dean smiles at him sarcastically and honestly and the two sit in a comfortable silence at the little table. It’s what they’ve gotten used to. It started with Dad going missing, but they quickly realized that he’s not coming back. Dean picked up odd jobs, from fixing houses to the occasional hooking escapade where he left Sam alone in their room for a few hours to make a few hundred off a sweaty guy called Reg. 

Dean usually reflects this burden in his very persona, reeking of self-loathing and wallowing in depression. His shoulders slump with a grief directly inherited from years of emotional abuse on their father’s part. Sure, Sam had it bad; but at least John would never throw punches at him. Dean took the brunt of his wrath and wasn’t awarded anything for his burden. It was the universe’s way of saying, “Fuck you, Dean Winchester.” And Sam never wanted any of that for his brother.

Of course, because of the cloud of negativity that looms over his brother, Sam notices something amiss when Dean is suddenly a happy-go-lucky homemaker who likes to wear aprons. Of course, because of the gruff and tough exterior that his brother uses to shield himself from God knows what, Sam is baffled when Dean opens himself up by watching Doctor Sexy and the Food Channel. Dean is, for one reason or another, getting in touch with his more repressed side.

After about twenty minutes, Sam gets up and clears out the table, not saying anything as his brother reads a copy of _National Geographic_ at the table while sipping his black coffee. Dean never gave a shit about animals. Sam also keeps his mouth shut when Dean meets him at the sink moments later; brushing his hands off the plates he’s cleaning and doing it himself.

“Seriously, Dean. What the fuck has gotten into you?” Sam asks, genuinely curious. His brother **never** takes dish duty. And tonight is not even his night. Sam removes his hands from the soapy sink and folds his arms over his chest, staring expectantly into his brother’s eyes. 

Dean looks like he’s about to protest and enter denial mode, like he’s done so many times, but after a moments deliberation he sighs, his shoulders heaving with the effort. He takes a hand and rubs it at the space between his eyebrows as he answers, his voice a quiet murmur. 

“I think I...” Dean begins, his face turning an uncharacteristically light shade of pink. Sam waits a moment, letting his brother fight through his thoughts. Dean finally meets his eyes and fidgets with the tail of his shirt.

“What is it, Dean?” Sam asks as gently as he can, trying not to scare his brother off. Talking like this is incredibly difficult for Dean; in the past, he would just chortle in Sam’s direction with a gruff, “Spare me the chick flick moments, Sammy.” Dean finally tears his attention away from the now stretched out corner of his shirt and squares his shoulders in Sam’s direction.

“I think I might... need someone, Sam.” That... is a shock. Sam is the only one in the Winchester household who has ever been able to admit love. To hear Dean make such a similar admission is, at the very least, a huge surprise. Sam didn’t even know he was seeing anyone.

 “That’s great, Dean.” Sam smiles at his brother, trying his very best not to startle him away with emotion-talk and what Dean refers to as ‘chick flick bullshit’. “Who’s the lucky girl to have won the affections of the high and mighty Dean Winchester?” Sam asks, raising a brow in question. It was a question he was not supposed to ask, evidently, as Dean’s face goes nine shades of scarlet and he backpedals almost immediately.

“Wow, Sammy. I, uh, didn’t know you were so involved in my relationships. Anyways, yeah, I just wanted to tell you that much. I’m gonna go track down that wraith or something,” Dean stutters out, making his exit as he does so. 

“Weird,” Sam mumbles to himself when Dean is out the door and most likely headed to a bar. Sam sighs and wonders to his bed, the one closest to the window, and turns the channel to something more his tastes, ah yes, _Friends_ is on. It’s a marathon. He watches a few episodes before drifting into a light, uncomfortable slumber. 

“Shhh, my brother’s over there,” a rough voice whispers, effectively waking Sam. Dean has returned to their room after what’s probably close to five hours. And he brought a guest. Wonderful.

“I’m not going to yell, Dean.” Whoa, that’s a deep voice there, Batman. Sam subtly rotates so he’s facing his brother and accomplice, making sure the sheets don’t ruffle too loudly. Batman continues, “We could’ve just gone back to my place.” 

‘My place?’ They’ve been in town a month, sure, but Dean doesn’t just go around getting to know other people. And that includes the Clark Kent lookalike sitting between Dean’s parted legs and watching “The One with Monika and Chandler’s Wedding.” Oh, _oh,_ this guy is probably the one Dean ‘needs’. 

“Yeah, but your brother’s fuckin’ creepy, Cas,” Dean murmurs into the man’s hair. Eugh, Sam does **not** need to see his brother get all lovey-dovey. So he rolls over so he’s facing the wall again and evens out his breathing. “And your dad hates the idea of us doing, uh, stuff together,” Dean finishes.

“I know, Dean. I’m sure it won’t last forever, though,” Cas doesn’t mention what he’s referring too, and when he continues, there’s a softer edge to his tone. “I just wish you could stay here, or I could go with you,” Cas whispers. The sheets on Dean’s bed ruffle a bit and one of them, though Sam would bet lots of money on Dean, moans out a disturbingly wet noise. 

“Dude, what the fuck?! My brother’s literally five feet away,” Dean almost growls, his voice suddenly about two octaves deeper. There is the sound of protest in his voice, though there is also a note of something else; a promise of _not now but later._ Sam almost shivers at the thought. His brother has never shown the slightest interest in anyone besides himself. And this ‘Cas’ dude seems to be fairly new, considering. Maybe Dean only wants him for dick.

“We can get another room. If you want to, that is,” Cas replies back, his Batman voice surprisingly higher, just catching on a little moan when Dean pats somewhere that Sam doesn’t want to know. He’s had enough.

Pushing himself so he’s upright, he turns to his brother and boyfriend and glares as menacingly as he can muster. “If you assholes won’t let me fucking sleep, go get the damn room. I don’t care, I know you don’t care. Just get the _fuck_ out if you want to grope each other like the horny bastards you seem to be.” He flops back onto his bed before either of them say a word and wraps his pillow around his head.

“We should get out of here,” Dean whispers to the man. No shit, Sherlock. Cas affirms and there’s some more rustling of sheets as they climb out of the bed. By the way Cas squeaks, Dean’s probably touched him somewhere inappropriate; it’s confirmed by his lusty chuckle. 

Surprisingly, Dean returns to tuck the blankets around Sam as though he were still five. He presses his lips to Sam’s temple and pulls away. His face, though slightly flushed, looks wonderfully happy. “‘Night, Sammy. I love you, kid,” Dean mumbles before offering a parting grin and chasing after his shirtless companion.

“Goodnight, Dean,” Sam whispers into empty darkness. Yeah, he’s happy that his brother is opening up some more, but he’s also unhappy that he’s not around his best friend as much as he used to be because of his happiness. 

Sam turns to the window and watches as the snow falls in beautiful patterns, intricately decorating the window pane in hills and valleys of wondrous crystalline ice. As he drifts off, he thinks of Dean smiling more, and he thinks of the stranger, Cas, becoming a part of their broken little family. 


End file.
